Beyond Asshood
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Season 7: Cuddy tries to get House to be less of a jerk.


Cuddy was on her way to House's office, about to remind him about Rachel's birthday party that weekend (for the fourth time), when she heard shouting from behind his closed door.

"Why'd you let her just sit there in his room?" a male voice said.

"I'm a doctor," House said. "Not a bouncer. It wasn't my place to kick her out."

"But you knew she was sleeping with my father!"

"Not in the hospital. His heart was way too weak for that."

"Very funny. You knew they were having an affair."

"I had no more anecdotal data than you did. Secretary, big boobs, sitting adoringly at his bedside. What'd you think she was doing there? Taking dictation?"

"She made a fool out of my mother."

"No one can _make_ someone else a fool."

"Are you calling my mother a fool?"

"Of course not. That would be foolish."

"You're a real asshole, you know that?"

"So they say."

The door swung open, and a 30something guy in khakis angrily stormed out.

"You're welcome for saving your father's life!" House shouted after him. Then he saw Cuddy.

"Hey!" he said, cheerfully.

"What was that all about?" she said.

"Guy's just pissed because his father has a new lease on life and left his mother for a younger model. AND HE'S BLAMING THE HEALER!" he shouted again.

"How horrible for the family," Cuddy said sympathetically.

House shrugged.

"Whatever. They'll get over it. With his heart and her boobs, they'll be cashing in on his life insurance policy soon enough."

He raised his eyebrows at Cuddy—he was already bored with this subject.

"What brings you here? Afternoon delight? Because I've told you it's very inappropriate for you to keep demanding that I service you at work like this…however, I'm willing to make an exception on days that end with the letter 'y'. . ."

"I wish you'd be nicer to the patients," Cuddy said, in a distracted sort of way.

"Here we go," House sighed.

"I'm serious House. Why do you have be such a jerk all the time?"

"You're _just_ noticing this?"

"I just thought since you were happier in your personal life, maybe you'd make a little bit of effort to be nicer to your co-workers and patients."

He limped up from the desk, put his arms around her.

"I'm nice to you," he said, kissing her.

"True," she said, softening a bit.

"And Rachel," he said, kissing her again.

"Sometimes," Cuddy said.

House pulled away.

"_Sometimes_? What's that supposed to mean?"

Cuddy hesitated.

"The other day, with the Cotton Candy Crew."

"Oh God, them," House said. "If I have to hear that insipid You're a Super Duper Person song one more time, I might actually vomit rainbows."

"Well, you hurt Rachel's feelings."

House narrowed his eyes.

"When?"

"When she asked you to sing the song with her and you said no."

"Cuddy, you didn't actually expect me to sing: _You're so special and unique, being with you is such a treat_, now did you?"

"Well, for the record, you made Rachel cry," Cuddy said.

House blanched.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, when I put her to bed that night. She said, 'Why won't House sing the Super Duper Person song with me?' and then she cried."

"You're shitting me."

"Afraid not, Ebenezer."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Cuddy looked at him.

"To be honest, I thought you might've actually made it worse. Diplomacy is not one of your strongpoints."

House limped quickly over to his desk, picked up the phone.

"What are you doing?" Cuddy said.

"I'm calling the nanny and telling her to put Rachel on the line. I need to apologize."

Cuddy smiled, walked beside him.

"Not necessary, House. That was three days ago—a veritable lifetime in a 3 year old's world. It's long forgotten. Just try to be less of an asshole, okay? Practice makes perfect."

House stared at the phone for a second, then hung up.

"Like _crying_ crying?" he said. "Or just that thing she does when the snot bubbles come out of her nose?"

Cuddy chuckled, amused.

"It's alright House. Everyone's over it. And you'll have plenty of time to make it up to her at her birthday party—which is. . .?"

"Saturday at 4 o clock," House muttered, folding his arms.

"Good. That was a test. And you'll be doing. . .?"

"Whatever you need me to do," he said, mechanically.

"Good boy."

And she pat him tolerantly on the arm.  
######

The next day, Masters came into House's office, wielding a scan.

He was on the phone, obviously on hold.

She waved it front of him.

He motioned for her to leave.

She waved the scan again.

He motioned for her to leave again, a bit more aggressively this time.

She ignored him, put the scan on the desk, right on top of the notepad he had been scribbling on.

"In the middle of something here," he hissed, pushing the scan away.

"This is urgent," Masters said.

"Actually, THIS is urgent," House said.

"You're obviously on hold."

"Which means that I'm obviously _waiting_ to talk to someone."

"Our patient might be dying—"

"They're all dying."

"House! We _need_ you!"

House cupped the mouthpiece of the phone.

"Masters, do you like your job?"

She rolled her eyes a bit. She saw where this was going.

"Yes."

"Then I suggest you take your scan and your little Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman outfit and _get the hell out of my office_."

"But. . ."

"NOW!"

She made a little squeak of protest and galumphed out of his office like a pissed off teenager.

#######

Several hours later, Cuddy saw House's team—Masters, Taub, Foreman, and Chase—all standing in the hall looking listless.

"What are you guys doing out here?" she asked.

"We're waiting for House," Foreman said.

"Where is he?"

Chase jerked his finger toward House's office. "He's on the phone."

"With whom?"

"He won't say," said Taub.

"How long has he been on the phone?"

They exchanged looks.

"Two—" Chase said.

"More like three," Taub interrupted.

"Three hours," Chase said, nodding.

"_Three hours_? What about your patient?"

"He's dying," Masters said, in a tattle-taleish sort of way.

"So why not tell House to get off the phone?" Cuddy said, testily.

"We did! He threatened my job!" said Masters.

"He called me a short-fingered vulgarian," said Taub.

"He said I brought shame upon my family," Chase offered, gamely.

"He told me black is whack," Foreman said.

Cuddy sighed, angrily.

"Why don't you go do your jobs instead of standing around my hallways with your thumbs up your asses and let me deal with House."

"Is he in trouble?" Master asked, hopefully.

"None of your business."  
#####

She strode into House's office.

When he saw her, he whispered into the phone, "I gotta go"— and hung up.

"Hello sunshine!" he said, taking note of her scowl.

"What are you doing House?"

"I'm decoupaging. What are you doing?"

"Your team says you've been on the phone for three hours while your patient is dying."

"Three hours? They exaggerate. More like—" he looked at his watch. "Two hours, 56 minutes. But she is my favorite psychic on the Psychic Hotline. I get so lost in our conversations."

Cuddy put her hands on her hips.

"Who have you been talking to, House?"

"Umm, I'd rather not say."

"I don't doubt that for a second," she said. "_Who_ have you been talking to, House?"

He looked at his desk.

"My bookie," he sighed, in a confessional tone.

"Your bookie?!"

"I got a can't miss-line on the Belmont today. I needed to place this bet."

"While your patient is dying?"

"Pffft. They exaggerate. He has the diagnostic equivalent of a skinned knee."

"They said you were mean to them," Cuddy said, annoyed.

"Mean? _Moi_?"

"House, a day ago we talked about practicing kindness toward others."

"Yeah, I misheard the 'and random acts of beauty' part as 'random acts of cruelty,'" House said.

"Not funny."

He stood up.

"Look, this is me, standing up to join my team. I will diagnose the patient, apologize for any and all hurt feelings, and come home and give you a toe-curling orgasm—all in a day's work, ma'am."

"There will no orgasm—of any sort—tonight."

"We'll see about that," he said, cockily.

"Go do your job," she said, leaving.

"Absolutely."

He watched her walk away, waited until she was out of earshot and picked up the phone.

####

That night, he slid into bed beside her.

"I believe I owe you a toe-curling orgasm, boss," he said, kissing her neck.

She squirmed away.

"Forget it, House."

"You sure?" he said, fondling her breast over her nightie. "Because I'm pretty sure this is our favorite bedtime activity."

Of course, his hand felt good, as did the pressure of his body—warm and lean—against hers, but she wasn't giving in.

"I don't have sex with assholes," she said.

"That is demonstratively false," he breathed into her neck, reaching under her nightie and sliding his hand from her stomach and toward her breasts. "You have sex with me all the time."

He bit her ear.

She could feel his erection against her leg. Her whole body began to vibrate.

Damn him. But she was not going to cave.

"I want you to be less of an asshole," she said, extricating his hand and placing it firmly on the bed.

"Really Cuddy?"

He propped his head on his elbow and looked at her, semi-amused.

"You're serious," he said.

"As the gravely ill patient you ignored today."

"Please. He'll be back on the golf course in a week. Are you really going to deny yourself pleasure to teach _me_ a lesson? Are you familiar with the expression: Biting off your nose to spite your face?"

"My face will be fine, House," she said. "_Your_ face, however, will be nowhere near any of my lady parts tonight."

"Now, that's just mean!"

"Just a taste of your own medicine, doctor."  
######

Saturday arrived, and with it, Rachel's third birthday party.

There were 20 toddlers and assorted mothers, fathers, and nannies spread out about the house.

It was loud and chaotic—all knocked over juice boxes, and sticky hands and fingers, and noisy shrieks from wee ones running head first into his bum leg—but Cuddy had to admit, House was being a good sport.

He was even wearing the ridiculous costume she had bought for him.

The doorbell rang.

"House, can you get that?"

"I'm on it."

He opened the door.

"Ahoy, matey! Welcome to Rachel's birthday barge! Might I offer ye up some grog—"

"House?"

He looked up.

Wilson was standing in the doorway, his arms folded, smirking at him.

"Oh, it's you," House said, taking off his pirate's hat and propping his eye patch on top of his head. "I didn't know you were invited."

"And miss this command performance?" Wilson said, with a laugh. "Never."

"Bite me," House said.

"Don't get out of character on my account, Jack Sparrow."

"Blackbeard," House muttered, irritably.

"I must say, the whole bum leg thing is really taking method acting to the next level," Wilson cracked.

"Hilarious, Wilson. Make fun of the crippled guy."

"Just glad to see you're getting into the spirit of things."

"Don't you have some children you want to delight?" House said.

"On my way."

Later, Wilson and Cuddy stood in the kitchen, drying dishes, watching as House orchestrated a game of Pin the Tail on the Bilge Rat.

"I gotta hand it to you," Wilson said. "I never thought I'd live to see the day House was crawling on the floor with a bunch of toddlers, dressed as a pirate."

"He's on probation," Cuddy said, chuckling.

"What for?"

"Being an asshole," Cuddy said.

"He's on probation for being himself?"

"He acted like an ass with Rachel. He acted like an ass with a patient. And then, when I called him on it, the very next day, he acted like an even bigger ass with his team."

"How wildly out of character for him!"

Cuddy shook her head, watched as House guided a tiny blindfolded toddler who was veering off course back toward the bilge rat target.

"I'm trying to get him to realize that extreme asshood does not have to be his default state."

"Good luck with that."

"He's wearing an eye patch and calling everyone matey," Cuddy said, gloating a bit.

"Fair point," Wilson said, with a smile.

"But do you notice how he keeps looking at his watch?" Cuddy said, amused. "I think he can't wait for his punishment to end."

Just then, the doorbell rang.

"That's me ship's horn!" House said, popping up.

He hobbled to the door, opened it.

There, standing in the doorway, were three youngish adults—two guys and a girl—in rainbow-colored shirts, suspenders, and hats.

The girl had a tambourine; one boy had a snare drum; the other boy had a banjo.

"Hey Rach!" House said, whistling loudly to break up the clamor in the next room. "You've got guests!"

Rachel, who was wearing a striped shirt and with large scarf wrapped around her head and a fake sword strapped to her shoulder, looked up.

Her mouth dropped open.

"The Cotton Candy Crew!" she shouted, jubilantly.

"Hi there, Rachel! We understand it's your birthday," said one of the guys, who went by the name Jelly Bean. "And we think you're a Super Duper Person!"

And with that, they launched into song, as the children began to cheer:

_You're a super duper person, yeah it's true._

_You're so super whether you're white, black, or blue!  
_

_You're so special and unique!_

_Being with you is such a treat!_

_You're a super duper person, yeah it's true_

Cuddy walked up to House, in shock.

"This was you?"

House smiled, said nothing.

"And your bookie?"

"Haven't talked to him in years." He scrunched up his face thoughtfully. "I think he might be in the witness protection program."

She stared at him.

"How'd you pull this off? The Cotton Candy Crew were at the Kennedy Center last week. They played for the Sultan of Brunei's grandson's birthday party."

"I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy," House said casually. His eyes were trained on Rachel.

"She looks happy, huh?" he said, smiling to himself.

"Deliriously so," Cuddy said. "But you know what would make her even happier?"

"What?"

"If you sang along with them."

"Don't press your luck, Cuddy."  
#######

That night, after the kids were gone and the floors were vacuumed and the gummy bears were removed from between the cushions of the couch, House and Cuddy went to bed.

House collapsed on the bed with a thud.

"I've never been this exhausted in my life," he said. "My _eyelids_ are exhausted."

"You're not even going to get undressed?" Cuddy said, regarding him with a chuckle.

"I literally cannot move a muscle," House breathed.

Cuddy climbed on top of him.

She kissed him on the lips, curled her tongue in his mouth, then began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Too bad," she said. "Because I wanted to thank you properly."

She continued unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his neck, then his collarbone, then his chest.

"Oooh," she said, with a devilish grin. "It looks like one of your muscles can move."

He grabbed her ass: "A pirate's sword is always at the ready, me lady."

"Plunder me, Blackbeard!" she said.

THE END


End file.
